

PS 3089 
. T33 17 
Copy 1 

























































DENISON’S ACTING PLAYS. 

Price 15 Cents Each, Postpaid, Unless Different Price is Given. 


M. F. 


COMEDIES, MELODRAMAS, Etc. 

M. F. 

All that Glitters is not Gold, 2 

acts, 2 hrs. 6 3 

Aunt Dinah’s Pledge, tempei- 

ance, 2 acts, 1 hr. 6 3 

Beggar Venus, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 30 

min. (25c) 6 4 

Blow for Blow, 4 acts, 2 hrs... 5 4 
Bonnybell, operetta, 1 h. (25c). 2 5 

Caste, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min_ 5 3 

Chimney Corner, 2 acts, 1 hr. 

30 min. 5 2 

Danger Signal, 2 acts, 2 hrs.... 7 4 
Diplomates, 4 acts, 3 hrs. (25c) 5 5 
Down in Dixie, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 

30 min...(25c) 8 4 

Early Vows, 2 acts, 1 hr. .(25c) 4 2 

East Lynne, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 8 7 

Elma, The Fairy Child, 1 hr. 

45 min., operetta. ..(25c) 9 15 
Enchanted Wood (The), 1 hr. 

45 min., operetta.(35c) 5 6 

Eulalia, 1 h. 30 min.(25c) 3 6 

From Sumter to Appomattox, 

4 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min. .(25c) 6 2 
Fruits of the Wine Cup, tem¬ 
perance, 3 acts, 1 hr. 6 4 

Handy Andy, Irish, 2 acts, 1 


hr. 30 min. 8 3 

Home, 3 acts, 2 hrs.. 4 3 

Jedediah Judkins, J.P., 4 acts. 


Lady of Lyons, 5 acts, 2 hrs, 30 

min. 8 4 

London Assurance, 5 acts, 2 

hrs. 30 min. 9 3 

Lost in London, 3 acts, 1 hr. 45 

min. 6 3 

Louva the Pauper, 5 acts, 1 hr. 

45 min. 9 4 

Michael Erie, 2 acts.l hr. 30 m. 8 3 
Mitsu-Yu-Nissi, Japanese Wed¬ 
ding, 1 hr. 15 min. 6 6 

Money, 5 acts, 3 hrs. 9 3 

My Wife’s Relations, 1 hr. 4 6 

Not such a Fool as he Looks, 3 

acts, 2, hrs. 5 3 

Odds with the Enemy, 5 acts, 2 


Only Daughter (An), 3 acts, 1 

, hr. 15 min . 5 2 

On the Brink, temperance, 2 

acts, 2 hrs. 12 3 

Our Country, 3 acts, 1 hr. 10 3 

Ours, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 30 min. 6 3 

Out in the Streets, temperance, 

1 hr. 15 min. 6 4 

Yet of Parsons’ Ranch, 5 acts, 

2 hrs... 9 3 

> Pocahontas,musical burlesque, 

2 acts, 1 hr... 10 2 

Rivals, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 45 min.. 8 4 

School Ma’am (The), 4 acts, 1 

hr. 45 min. 6 5 


Sea Drift, 4 acts, 2 hrs...,. 6 2 

Seth Greenback, 4 acts, 1 hr. 

15 min . 7 3 

Shadow Castle, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 30 

min.(25c) 5 4 

Soldier of Fortune, 5 acts, 2 

hrs. 20 min. 8 3 

Solon Shingle 1 hr. 30 min,... 7 2 
Sparkling Cup, temperance, 5 


CXVy * ... •••• * ^ * 

Ten Nights in a Barroom, tem¬ 
perance, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 7 4 

Ticket of Leave Man, 4 acts, 2 

hrs. 45 min .. . 8 3 

Tony, the Convict, 5 acts, 2 

hrs. 30 min.(25c) 7 4 

Toodles, 2 acts, 1 hr. 15 min.. 6 2 
Uncle Josh, 4 acts, 2)4 h. (25c) 8 3 
Under the Laure s, 5 acts, 1 hr. 

45 min.. 5 4 

Under the Spell, 4 acts, 2 hrs. 


Wedding Trip (The), 2 acts, 1 


Won at Last, 3 acts, 1 hr. 45 

min. 7 3 

Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs o 3 

FARCES AND SKETCHES. 

Assessor, sketch, 10 min. 3 2 

Babes in Wood, burlesque, 25 

min. 4 3 

Bad Job, 30 min. 3 2 

Bardell vs. Pickwick, 25 min.. 6 2 

Beautiful Forever, 30 min. 2 2 

Blind Margaret, musical, 30 m. 3 3 
Borrowing Trouble, 25 min.... 3 5 

Breezy Call, 25 min . 2 1 

Bumble’s Courtship, sketch, 

18 min. 1 1 

Cabman No. 93, 40 min. 2 2 

Christmas Ship, musical, 20 m. 4 3 
Circumlocution Office, 20 min. 6 0 

Country Justice, 15 min. 8 0 

Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 

min. 3 2 

Cut off with a Shilling, 25 min. 2 1 

Deception, 30 min. 3 2 

Desperate Situation, 25 min... 2 3 
Dutchman in Ireland, 20 min. 3 0 
Fair Encounter, sketch, 20 m. 0 2 

Family Strike, 20 min. 3 3 

Free-Knowledge-ist, 2 acts, 25 

min. 3 3 

Friendly Move, sketch, 20 m.. 4 0 

Hans Von Smash, 30 min. 4 3 

Hard Cider, temperance, 15 m. 4 2 
Homceopathy, Irish, 30 min.... 5 3 

Ici on Parle Francais, 40 m ... 4 3 

I’ll Stay Awhile, 20 min. 4 0 

I’m not Mesilf at All, Irish, 25 

min .. 3 2 

Initiating a Granger, 25 min... 8 0 
In the Dark, 25 min. 4 2 


T. S. DENISON, Publisher, 163 Randolph St., Chicago. 








































































THE IRON HAND 


A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS 


/ 

By CHARLES TOWNSEND 


Author of: Down in Dixie, On Guard, Deception, Early Vows, A Won¬ 
derful Letter, Breezy Call, Tony the Convict, Uncle Josh, 

The Iron Hand, Wanted: A Hero, Negro Min¬ 
strels, Private Theatricals, Etc. 


•*e«N» QOPY, 

/ 



CHICAGO: 







62697 ' \3-' - L 

THE IRON HAND 


f 

CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

Oliver Montford, who knows neither fear nor pity. 
Harmon Van Dorn, a wealthy young artist. 

Jack Minton (afterward known as Percy Plantaganet), 
Montford’s ward. 

Old Ikey, “der most honestest man!” 

Hawkins, a servant. ( Two or three men. ) 

Bella, Jack’s sister, afterward, Mrs. Van Dorn. 

Lizzie, Jack’s wife, a popular actress. 

Mrs. Dibble, positively a positive widow. 

Hannah, a servant. 


BILL OF THE PLAY. 

Act I.—At Montford’s. The Accusation. ‘‘Stop her! 
She stole the money!” 

Act II.—At Van Dorn’s. The Departure. “Go, and 
never let me see your face again!” 

Act III.—Old Ikey’s den. The Duel. “I’ll fasten this 
murder on your guilty soul!” 

Act IV.—At Van Dorn’s. Reunited. “Free forever 
from the power of his iron hand!” 


COSTUMES. 

Montford, Act I., handsome sack suit. Acts II. and III., 
evening dress (overcoat and silk hat for third act). Act 
IV., street dress. 

Harmon, Act II., smoking jacket—changing to evening 
dress. Act IV., sack suit. 

Note —The publisher retains the sole professional stage right to 
this play. 


Copyright, 1897, by T. S. Denison. 

(2) 






THE IRON HAND. 


Jack, Act I., stylish dark suit, overcoat, hat, gloves. 
Acts II. and III., very loud dress, such as variety stage act¬ 
ors affect; must be in bad taste throughout. Coat, tie 
and collar off in third act. Act IV., same as second act; 
head bound up. 

Ikey, Act I., flashy dress throughout. Trousers with 
broad checks or stripes. Very loud four-in-hand tie in 
which is fastened a big cluster of brilliants. Big overcoat, 
fur cap. Acts II., III. and IV., summer suit, very loud 
and vulgar. 

Hawkins, plain, dark suit. 

Bella, Act I., plain but neat house dress. Act II., very 
handsome house dress. Acts III. and IV., same, with 
wrap, as noted in text. 

Lizzie, Act II., rather flashy street dress of light mate¬ 
rial. Act IV., another of the same sort. 

Mrs. Dibble, Act I., traveling dress with wrap. Acts 
II. and IV., street dresses; slightly eccentric throughout. 

Hannah, neat house dress. 


PROPERTIES. 

(See also “Scene Plot.”) 

Act I.—Cigars and matches. Newspapers and books on 
table. Call bell on table. Pocketbook and bills for Mrs. 
Dibble. 

Act II.—Easel with canvas, brush, etc., for painting. 
Handsome table lamp to light; matches. Card and pencil 
for Ikey. A dozen or more photographs on table—one 
larger than the others (supposed to be Bella’s). Photo¬ 
graph for Montford. Letter in envelope. Roll of bills in 
desk. Several pictures on the walls. 

Act III.—Lighted candles on table. Cot. Old, shabby 
desk. Bottle of liquor, glasses and pack of playing cards. 
Cigar for Ikey. Box of cigars in desk. Matches. Cham¬ 
ois bag with coins for Montford. Dagger. Two pistols 
—one loaded with blank cartridge, sure fire. Bell to 
strike the hour. 

Act IV.—Pistol for Ikey. 



4 


THE IRON HAND. 


SCENE PLOT. 

Act I.—Comfortably furnished sitting-room in fourth 
groove with interior backing in fifth groove. Doorways 
draped with dark portiere curtains C ., Z. U E., R. 2 . 
In this set avoid all lightness. Use a dark flat, dark 
wings, and have all the furniture, drapery, etc., very dark. 
Table and chairs Z. front. Table littered with news¬ 
papers and books. Carpet down. Sofa up Z. C ’. Easy 
chair R. front. 

Act II.—An artist’s studio. Box set if possible. Every¬ 
thing light and bright, in strong contrast to previous act. 
Set in third grooves, with interior backing in fourth grooves. 
Doors C ., Z. U. E. a?id R. i E. Easel with canvas, R. C. 
Desk, R. front. Chairs, R. and Z. Sofa up R. Table 
with lamp, Z. Carpet and rugs. Make this set attractive 
as possible. 

Act III.— A rough, dark room in fourth grooves. Doors 
R. C. in flat and Z. i E. Window Z. C. in flat, nailed 
up with boards. Rough pine table and stools, R. front. 
Cot up Z., under window. Lights half down. Candles 
burning on table, with glass bottles for candlesticks. 
Shabby desk containing box with cigars, Z. 2. 

Act IV.—Parlor in fourth grooves, with interior backing 
in fifth grooves. Curtained doorways C., R. 1 E. and Z. 
U. E. Table and chairs, R. Sofa, Z. Carpet and rugs. 
Piano up R. 


STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R., means right of the stage; C., center; R. C., right 
center; Z., left; 1 E ., first entrance; U. E., upper en¬ 
trance, etc.; D. E., door in flat or back of the stage; 1 G ., 
first groove, etc. The actor is supposed to be facing the 
audience. 



THE IRON HAND. 


5 


STAGE SETTINGS. 

Act I. 


INTERIOR BACKING 



INTERIOR BACKING 



Act IIT 


EXTERIOR BACKING (Street) 


CLOSED 



INTERIOR BACKING 



























6 


THE IRON HAND. 


REMARKS ON THE PLAY. 

“The Iron Hand” belongs to a class of plays that are 
greatly in demand at present; plays that are clean, elevat¬ 
ing, and yet exciting; full of quick, snappy action, thrill¬ 
ing situations, and containing much bright comedy withal. 
In writing “The Iron Hand,” Mr. Townsend has given us 
an easy, natural play which may be performed on any 
stage and by any company of average ability. The story 
of the play is simple, plain, easily understood, and yet 
wonderfully interesting, for it rivets the attention of the au¬ 
dience from the rise of the first curtain until its final fall. 
The action goes forward with a torrent-like rush—for Mr. 
Townsend’s plays never drag—and the denouement is un- 
forseen until, with a few graphic touches, it is cleverly 
brought about in the last act. 

The characters are excellent throughout, and deserve the 
closest study. The following suggestions are from the 
author’s prompt book, and will be of interest to those ap¬ 
pearing in the play for the first time. 

Montford: Age, thirty-five; makeup, dark, with black, 
curly hair and mustache. Voice low, but very distinct. Must 
be polished and refined in manner, but very quick and de¬ 
cisive in action. The character is that of a cold, hard, 
fearless man, who knows neither remorse nor pity. Dress 
the character in the best of taste. Be very careful to avoid 
over-acting. Bear in mind that Montford is apparently a 
gentleman, and that his real nature is understood only by 
those who know him intimately. 

Van Dorn is about twenty-five or thirty years of age, 
and should make up rather light. He is a thorough gen¬ 
tleman in every respect and his acting must be free from 
restraint. Intense force is demanded as the second act 
nears an end. The climax must be worked up with a 
great deal of vim. 

Jack: In the first act, is a young fellow of twenty. He 
is thoughtless, reckless, but brave and good-hearted. His 
gaiety in the second act is assumed, remember, and this 
fact must be made evident by his lapses into seriousness. 
Makeup is immaterial. 

Ikey: Age, about fifty. A “sporty” old Jew, with all 


THE IKON HAND. 


7 


the greed, cunning, cowardice and impudence characteris¬ 
tic of his class. He both fears and hates Montford and is 
delighted at his downfall. “Ikey” must be played wholly 
on comedy lines. 

Hawkins is a middle-aged servant with no marked char¬ 
acteristics, and the men who appear at the opening of act 
third are simply “hard characters,” rough and unsavory. 

Bella is an “emotional lead”—a role that admits of 
strong acting, and, indeed, the requirements of the role 
demand it. She is lively, pathetic, intense—ever varying 
with her changing moods. To over-act a part like this is 
to spoil it, and yet tameness must be carefully avoided. 
Her age in the first act is about nineteen. 

Liz'zie is a decided soubrette, bright, saucy and full of 
life. One must never pose nor attudinize in playing this 
part. Her age is about the same as Bella’s. 

Mrs. Dibble: Age, forty-five; a loud-voiced, domineer¬ 
ing, pugnacious lady, who means business every moment 
of the time. As this is a comedy part it may be played 
with considerable freedom from restraint. 

Hannah, like Hawkins, is a servant’s role, with no spe¬ 
cial characteristics. 


Note. —Amateurs may present this play very effectively 
with simpler settings than those given in the scene plot. 



THE IRON HAND. 


Act I. 

Scene.— Sitting-room in fourth grooves. Doors, C., L. U. 

E. a?id R. 2. 

Enter Jack and Hawkins, C. 

Jack. Is your master at home? 

Hawkins. Yes, sir. 

Jack. Is he up? 

Hawk. Yes, sir, but he seldom receives visitors in the 
morning. 

Jack. Tell him I’m here; I’ve come to see him, and I 
intend to see him. 

Hawk. Very well, sir. ( Goes up and meets Ikey at C.) 

Ik. Veil? 

Hawk. Well? 

Ik. Vot you vant to know, eh? 

Hawk. I want to know what you want. 

Ik. Yesh. Tell Mr. Montford dot “Old Ikey” voshere, 
uf you blease. 

Hawk. Humph! All right. (Aside.) Escaped from 
Baxter street! (Exit, C. D.) 

Ik. An, mine young frient, I vos ve-ry glat to see you 
looking so veil. 

Jack. Are you, indeed? (Sits at table , L.) 

Ik. Yesh. You looks better as you ever did. 

Jack. How do you know? You never saw me before. 

Ik. Um—yesh, dat’s so! (Pause.) Veil, it’s a fine day, 
eh? 

Jack. Yes, if you like plenty of rain, snow, slush and the 
devil to pay. 

Ik. Der devil don’t pay. He takes ever’ting on trust. 

Jack. Yourself, for instance. 

(8) 



THE IRON HAND. 


9 


Ik. Now, my dear boy, I protest. Vot has soured der 
sweetness uf your temper? 

Jack. The usual thing—money. 

Ik. Money? 

Jack. Yes, money—or rather the lack of it. 

. Ik. Um—now maybe I could hellup you uf der secur¬ 
ity— 

Jack. Thank you, old hundred per cent., but I am not 
borrowing at present. 

Ik. Den vot are you howling about? 

Jack. Because I cannot get hold of my own property. 

Ik. Vy not? (Sits R.) 

Jack. Because my good, kind guardian prefers to keep 
it in his own clutches. 

Ik. Who vos your goot, kind guardian? 

Jack. Mr. Montford, who owns you body and soul, I 
dare say. 

Ik. Oh, no he doesn’t. 

Jack. No? Then I’ll leave out the soul. 

Ik. Vat a sarcastical young man. Mine young frient, 
you should not be so bitter. Mr. Montford is a very able 
business man, und his heart— 

Jack. His heart? He has none. It was petrified at 
birth. 

Ik. But, my dear boy, consider vat a fine man he is. 
See how people look up to him. 

Jack. Because they fear him. He is a devil in human 
form, I tell you, who knows neither fear, remorse nor 
pity. 

Ik. (Aside.) Dat’s true as preaching. (Aloud.) But 
see vot a style dere vos about him—der clothes he vears. 
My boy, Oliver Montford vos—vos a fashion plate. 

Jack. It’s a pity you don’t copy him. 

Ik. Me? Vat’s de matter mit my clothes? Sh! Stand 
aside! Let der light shine on der diamonds! 

Jack. (Up C.) You better cover them up. Here comes 
your master. 

Ik. (R. front.) Oh-h! I feels shivery all ofer ven he 
comes. (Music.) 


10 


THE IRON HAND. 


Enter Montford, C. 

Mont. Good morning, gentlemen. Jack, my boy, I’m 
glad to see you. What brings you from New York so 
early? 

Jack. (Z. ) I came to see you, sir, on important busi¬ 
ness. 

• Mont. Indeed? 

Ik. Yesh, and so did I. It vos about ( watches Mont¬ 
ford’ s eye and shrinks )—I begs your pardon—I—I vos only 
going to say— 

Mont. That will do. 

Ik. T’ank you, sir. 

Mont. Leave the room! 

Ik. But I vant to tole you— 

Mont. I said leave the room! If I want you I’ll ring! 

Ik. T’ank you, sir. ( Aside .) Ven he talks in dot quiet 

vay I feels crawl}' all ofer. ( Exit , R .) 

Mont. Now, Jack, I am entirely at your service. 

Jack. (Coming down.) Well, sir I have called— 

Mont. I beg pardon, but pray sit down. 

Jack. (Seated L.) Very well. As 1 said, I have called 
to demand from you— 

Mont. One moment, pray. This is something unique. 
I am not accustomed to receiving commands. Have a 
cigar? No? Well, smoking is a bad habit, I admit, but 
(lights cigar ) I am not exactly a saint. Let me see— 
where were you? Oh, yes; you were about to demand 
something, were you not? 

Jack. Yes, sir; I was about to ask— 

Mont. Ah! This is quite interesting. First a demand, 
then a request. Please go on. 

Jack. In plain English, I want money! 

Mont. How very remarkable. 

Jack. Why remarkable? 

Mont. The idea of a young man in your circumstances 
wanting money. You have no wife, no children, so can¬ 
not be troubled with bills. You are not a politician nor an 
editor, therefore you need no money. 

Jack. But I do need it, and I propose to have it. 

Mont. Really? Well, if you are determined — 




f 


THE IRON HAND. 


11 


Jack. I am, sir. 

Mont. Then — (Smokes.) 

Jack. Well? 

Mont. Go to work and earn it. 

Jack. (Rising.') Earn it— earn it? When I have a for¬ 
tune of my own? You must be joking. 

Mont. Sit down. (Jack sits.) I never joke; it is very 
bad form. As for your fortune, that is in my charge until 
you become of age, and my duty is to guard it as I do my 
own. 

Jack. Then you will give me nothing? 

Mont. Only your regular allowance when due. That is 
all you wish to say, I believe. We have luncheon at 
twelve, as usual. ( Takes paper and reads.) 

Jack. I tell you I need money, and I’m going to have it 
in some way. 

Mont. {Without looking up.') Good morning! 

Jack. ( Goes L. Patises.) Good morning! ( Exits I. 

U. E .) 

Mont. The young fool is getting troublesome ( rings call 
bell on table), and I must find a way to silence him. 
{Rings.) The sooner it is done the better it will be. 
{Rings. ) Curse that sheeney! 

Enter Ikey, R. 2 . 

Mont. You should come promptly when I ring. Do you 
understand? 

Ik. Yesh, I understand. (Aside.) In vot a fine vay he 
orders me around# Oh, it’s magnificent—utterly magnifi¬ 
cent! 

Mont. Ikey, come here! How long have you been 
working for me? 

Ik. Let me see — 11m—vy, ebber since you shot der Span¬ 
iard in New Orleans. 

Mont. (Choking him.) You infernal idiot! That’s a 
dead secret. 

Ik. (Gasping.) 1— er — great Abraham! Und I’d been 
a dead son uf a gun in about a minute. 

Mont. There are some things never to be thought of, 
much less spoken. 

Ik. Yesh. Und I thought I had spoke my last spoke. 


12 


THE IRON HAND. 


(Aside.) Vot a grip he’s got. It’s magnificent —utterly 
magnificent! 

Mont. Then keep a close tongue hereafter. Now to 
business. You noticed the young fellow who was here 
when I came in? 

Ik. Yesh. 

Mont. He is in my way! 

Ik. How? 

Mont. He is my ward, and a rather troublesome one. 
In a few months he will be of age, and will expect me to 
hand over his property. 

Ik. Vot a nerve he vos got! 

Mont. He must be put out of the way. 

Ik. I see. (Points.) Up yonder? 

Mont. (Amused.') You blood-thirsty rascal! 

Ik. So hellup me gracious, I protest. I vouldn’t harm a 
hair of his head. 

Mont. You need not. You’ve only to work a scheme 
that will keep him out of sight. 

Ik. Vos it a moral scheme? 

Mont. Moral? You precious old sinner! 

Ik. Me? Und I vos der most moralest man as effer vos, 
so hellup me! 

Mont. So I have noticed. I shall draw on some of 
your surplus morality, my friend (they go P.), or it may 
smother you. (Ikey exits R.) That fellow knows too 
much for his own good. But he is a very useful dog, and 
I’ll see that he never has a chance to bite. (Exit R.) 

Enter Mrs. Dibble and Bella, C. 

Bella. I am glad to welcome you here, Mrs. Dibble. 

Mrs. D. (Rn?ioving wraps.) Thank you! And it’s very 
kind of you to say it, I’m sure. I don’t see how people 
can live in the country. I’m sure I pity them from the very 
bottom of my heart. Snow, slush and rain all the blessed 
time. One cannot step out of the house without being 
drowned or frozen to death, and I’m sure the doctors ought 
to coin fortunes in a region where the insufferable climate 
helps them kill off people as I am positive it must do here. 
(Seated , L.) 


i 


I 


THE IRON HAND. 


13 


Bel. ( Seated , R. ) But surely, Mrs. Dibble, the country 
is not responsible for the weather. 

M rs. D. Oh, yes it is! There is so much more room 
for the weather to be ugly and disagreeable here than in 
town. I can’t imagine what they want such great long 
stretches of land without any houses on them for. And 
how in the wide world people manage to live without balls, 
parties, kettledrums, afternoon teas and the latest society 
news I can’t imagine. Why, my dear, I might as well be 
buried outright in the wilds of Timbuctoo, so far as hear¬ 
ing anything about what people are saying. 

Bel. We have plenty of gossip, if that is what you 
want. 

Mrs. D. Well, I’m sure I can’t imagine what they find 
to gossip over. I am sure that the long-haired Jehu 
who drove me down from the station talked of nothing but 
“craps” and “bosses” and Southdown cows. Oh, dear! 
I know if I live here long I shall die very soon. Ah, Miss 
Bella, it’s a dreadful thing for a woman like me, who has 
seen better days, to be brought down to this—earning my 
bread by the brow of my face—I mean by the bread of my 
brow. A housekeeper in the country! To think that I 
should ever come to this. Oh, if my daughter Lizzie had 
only remembered the teachings of her youth! 

Bel. You have a daughter, then? 

Mrs. D. Yes, I have—the cold-blooded, heartless, 
heathen, undutiful child that she is! 

Bel. What has she done? 

Mrs. D. Done? Gone off to be a serious-comical singer 
on the stage—that’s what! An actoress! Just think of that! 
And worse than all, she’s gone and married a man in secret 
—in secret, mind you—she who was born in the face and 
eyes of the whole world. ( Goes up .) Then she had the 
impudence to tell me that her dearest darling husband did 
not care to have me live with him—the monster! When I 
am sure there is no more quiet, easy tempered person on 
earth than myself. If I was like some mothers-in-law, 
whose tongues are going all the time, clatter, clatter, clat¬ 
ter, night and day, there might be some reason for it. But 
when you consider that I never say a single word unless 
I’m driven into it, it just makes my blood boil. 


14 


THE IRON HAND. 


Bel. Whom did she marry? 

Mrs. D. That I don’t know—some worthless good-for- 
nothing, I’ll be bound. She did not give his name, and 
the sassy doorkeeper at the theater wouldn’t tell me. But 
I’ll find him some day, and when I do—oh-h! I’ve saved 
up a thousand dollars ( takes outpocketbook), and I’ve got it 
right here—catch me trusting any bank—and I’d gladly 
give it all for five minutes’ talk with that young man. 
(Leaves pocketbook o?i table.') 

Bel. You may become reconciled. 

Mrs. D. We may; but not before I’ve given him a very 
large piece of my mind. 

Enter Hawkins, C. 

Hawk. Mr. Montford wishes me to say that your apart¬ 
ments are ready, madam. 

Mrs. D. Thank you! {Exit Hawkins, C. ) If you’ll ex¬ 
cuse me, dear, I’ll go to my room, as I wish to get a little 
repose. It’s a great responsibility to have charge of such 
a house and I wonder if the servants {exit C., still speaking) 
have brought in my baggage {voice loiuer), the stupid, tire¬ 
some things. {Lower.) I’m just worried to death. 

Bel. ( Crosses.) What can Jack be doing here? I am 
afraid he is in trouble or he would not have come. {Sits 
L.) Why {seespocketbook), she has left her money. I’ll 
call her back. ( Goes up.) 

Enter Montford, C. 

Mont. Good morning, Bella! 

Bel. Good morning, sir! ( Returns , sits L.) 

Mont. Sir? Bella, I wish you would not address me in 
that formal way. {Sits beside her. ) 

Bel. Why, Mr. Montford, I meant nothing. 

Mont. True, but it sounds very distant, coming from you. 

Bel. From me? 

Mont. Only from you. With others I desire nothing 
more cordial. But you, Bella, you whom I love— 

Bel. I? 

Mont. If you please. 

Bel. But I don’t understand. 

Mont. Then I will be explicit. I am not romantic, 


THE IRON HAND. 


15 


Bella. I do not come to you with honeyed words, for such 
words mean nothing. I 'do not tear a passion to tatters 
nor swear impossible things to win your love. But I tell 
you truly that I love you, and that my greatest happiness 
will be to call you mine. 

Bel. I—I—oh, Mr. Montford, why have you said this to 
me? ( Rises, goes R. ) 

Mont. Please resume your seat. Come! (She si/s. ) 
That is right. A mere proposal of marriage should not 
cause such excitement. Now once more— 

Bel. Please, Mr. Montford, do not ask me again. 

Mont. And why not? Am I old, ugly, ignorant or poor? 
Certainly not. Then what possible objection can you have 
to becoming my wife? 

Bel. The greatest in life, sir. 

Mont. You interest me. May I venture to inquire what 
it is? 

Bel. (Rises.) You may. A true woman’s love is be¬ 
yond all price, and in such love a man like you can never 
share. ( Crosses, R.) 

Mont. Is your answer final? 

Bel. Yes. Can you speak of love in your calm, even, 
polished tones without a tremor in your voice or a quick¬ 
ened heart throb? Love? You have no conception of the 
word; and if you were a thousand times richer than you 
are, I would never, never, never marry you. (Exit, R.) 

Mont. ( Calmly lights cigar. ) I have an impression 
( P u ff )—I have an impression that she refused me. She 
did it quite well, too. When that girl does fall in love with 
a fellow I expect she will be very much in earnest. I sup¬ 
pose I deserve to be jilted for lying to the girl, by saying 
that I loved her. I sometimes think it is wrong to lie— 
especially when people won’t believe you. Love! A fool’s 
affliction! Confound her, anyhow! As my wife, I would 
have no trouble over her property, but as it is—she must 
be got rid of, somehow, along with her jackanapes brother. 

I am sorry for you, Bella, my dear, but business is busi- 
iness. (Up C.) If I cannot have the property with you 
why (shrugs shoulders), I must have it without. (Exits, C.) 


16 


THE IRON HAND. 


Enter Jack, L. 

Jack. What a confounded mess I am in. A wife on my 
hands and no money. Devil take it all! What am I to 
do? (Montford appears , listening , C. ) I must have money 
or there’ll be war in the camp. But how?—there’s the 
rub. (Seespocketbook on table.') By all that’s lucky! My 
guardian has forgotten his pocketbook! And it’s full, too! 
(Counts. ) One hundred, two hundred, five, ten—a thou¬ 
sand dollars! Much obliged to you, Mr. Montford—I’ll 
just borrow this. (Starts up L.) 

Enter Bella, quickly , R . 2. 

Bel. Jack! 

Jack. (Startled.) Eh? Oh, it’s you! 

Bel. How startled you look. What is the matter? 

Jack. Matter? Oh—nothing at all, Sis! (Dow?i C.) 

Bel. Yes, there is, Jack. Have you quarreled with Mr. 
Montford? 

Jack. Oh, dear, no! 

Bel. Did you come for money? 

Jack. Of course. 

Bel. And you got it? 

Jack. Why—yes—oh, yes, I got some money. 

Bel. How strangely you act. What have you been doing? 

Jack. Don’t question me like a lawyer. I’ll not answer. 
Good-by. (Starts up.) 

Bel. Don’t go, Jack, please don’t. I want to talk to you. 

Jack. Haven’t time now, Sis. I must catch the next 
train for the city. So good-by. 

Bel. (At table.) Jack! 

Jack. Well, what is it? 

Bel. (Quietly.) Where is the money that was here? 

Jack. The what? 

Bel. The money. 

Jack. The money? 

Bel. Yes, the money. Have you taken it? 

Jack. And what if I have? Do you think I want to live 
like a beggar when I have wealth of my own in that devil’s 
clutches? I like to be merry, full of fun, enjoy life, and 
hang me if I don’t do it. Besides, I’m married. 

Bel. Married? 


THE IRON HAND. 


17 


Jack. Yes; but keep mum. My wife is pretty as a pic¬ 
ture, but she’s got an awfully bad temper. When I’m in 
funds we’re happy, and I propose to remain so. Under¬ 
stand me—I’m no thief. This money is only a forced loan, 
and I’ll return it to my guardian when the estate is settled. 
So give me your word to say nothing of this to anyone. 

Bel. I cannot. 

Jack. You must! 

Bel. But, Jack, the money isn’t— 

Jack. Someone is coming. Promise, quick, or you’ll 
never see me again. 

Bel. What do you mean? 

Jack. I mean I’ll clear out and go to the bad as fast as 
I can. Come, now, do you promise? 

Bel. Yes. (Montford disappears.') 

Jack. That’s a dear. I’ll bring you something pretty 
next time. ( Exit , R.) 

Bel. ( Sinks into chair.) Oh, what a promise I have made! 

Enter Mrs. D., C. D. 

Mrs. D. My dear Bella, I am so glad you are here, for I 
just remembered that I left my pocketbook with every dol¬ 
lar I had in the world on the table and I ( searches over 
table) —why where in the world—you saw it, didn’t you? 

Bel. Yes— I —saw it. 

Mrs. D. And now it’s gone, it’s gone! Good Lord, I’m 
ruined forever! ( Drops into chair.) 

Enter Montford and Ikey, C. D. 

Bel. (Aside.) What shall I do—what shall I say? 

Mont. (TWkey. ) Accuse the girl. 

Ik. Vot, me? 

Mont. At once! 

Ik. Oh, man—dot’s a tarn shame! 

Mont. Do as I bid you! 

Mrs. D. Was you here all the time? 

Bel. No! 

Mrs. D. Then some thief slipped in and stole it. 
Alarm the house! (Bella starts up C.) 

Ik. Stop! Send for an officer! Dot girl stole der 
money! 


Quick Curtain. 


18 


THE IRON HAND. 


ACT II. 

Scene. —An artist's studio in third grooves , with interior back¬ 
ing in fourth grooves. Doors C ., L. U. E. and R. i E. 

Discover Van Dorn seated at easel , R. C., painting; Bella 

seated L. C.,facing audience. 

Bel. How does it look now, Harmon? 

Harmon. Better — much better. 

Bel. Pm glad of that. 

Har. And yet ( critically ), I think the nose looks a trifle 
rocky. 

Bel. Rocky! My nose? Oh, for shame! 

Har. Steady! Don’t lose your pose. Your little nose is 
all right—confound it! 

Bel. Harmon! 

Har. My brush slipped. It’s no use; that nose is a 
failure. It’s a libel. Take that, will you? ( Daubs picture .) 

Bel. That’s the third canvas you’ve spoiled; and oh, 
Harmon, you hit me right in the eye! You’re a spoiled 
boy. 

Har. Preserved, you mean. Why, bless your heart, 
I’m a hundred per cent, better than I was when we met on 
that lucky day in Switzerland. ( They sit. ) But tell me, 
are you perfectly happy in your new home? 

Bel. Happy? Indeed, yes; far more than I ever hoped 
to be. 

Har. And there is no cloud in the sky — no past grief 
nor future dread? 

Bel. Why do you ask? 

Har. Because, at times, even in your lightest moments, 
I have seen a shadow as of some impending evil steal 
across your face, your eyes looked troubled, and you 
seemed to dwell in the horror of some dread, unhappy 
past. There is a shadow on your life. Cannot I help lift it? 

Bel. No, no, Harmon, no! Do not speak of it— do not 
think of it—for I cannot recall it without a feeling of dread¬ 
ful terror. ( Crosses , agitated.') 

Har. Bella! 

Bel. ( Goes to him.) Harmon, never, never speak of it 
again. 

Har. There, there, my darling, I had no idea of alarm- 


THE IKON HAND. 


19 


ing you. Why, Bella, your hands are like ice. Forgive 
me, dear, I did not mean to startle you like this. 

Bel. Thank you, Harmon! Before we were married I 
told you my past was dead; that if I became your wife we 
must live only in the present. I had done no wrong, was 
guilty of no crime. You believe and trust me? 

Har. With all my heart. And this is why you wish to 
live secluded, to receive only certain of my friends? 

Bel. Yes. I may explain everything some day, and 
then you will know that I am worthy of your trust. ( Lights 
quarter down .) 

Har. I believe you, Bella. Speaking of old friends, I 
met one this morning whom I haven’t seen for two years. 
He is coming here this afternoon to give me an order for a 
picture. 

Bel. That’s nice. Who is he? 

Har. A very wealthy fellow. His name is Oliver Mont- 

ford. 

Bel. ( Rising , in fear.') What! 

Har. Do you know him? 

Bel. I —oh, why did you mention his name? 

Har. Has he anything to do with your past? 

Bel. Don’t ask me—you promised you would not. 

Har. And I’ll keep my word. But if he has dared cause 
you any trouble— 

Bel. No, no—it’s nothing. Only his—his name recalled 
a story of a friend whom he caused much unhappiness. 
Don’t trust him, Harmon—don’t call him your friend, for 
he is unworthy of the name. 

Har. ( Rising . ) I always supposed Montfordwas a gen¬ 
tleman; but if you wish me to cut his acquaintance— 

Bel. (Eagerly.) Yes, yes! (Lights half down.) 

Har. So be it. {Looks at watch. ) By jove, it’s nearly 
six. I thought it was getting late. Here’s $1,500 (takes 
bill-book from pocket) which I intended banking to-day. 
Never mind, though, I’ll leave it in my desk until to-mor¬ 
row. 

Bel. (Lights lamp. Lights all on. ) Will it be safe here ? 

Har. Why, of course. Run along, now, and dress for 
dinner. I expect a call at this hour from a bright theatri¬ 
cal star. 


20 


THE IRON HAND. 


Bel. A tragedian? 

Har. Something of the kind. He sings comic songs at 
the variety theaters. 

Bel. Oh! {Up L.) Will he sing here? 

Har. Not for his life. 

Bel. All right! {Exits, laughing , L. U. E.) 

Enter Jack, C. D. 

Jack. Hello! 

Har. Well, sir? 

Jack. Percy Plantaganet, of the vaudevilles. You got 
my note? 

Har. I did. 

Jack. Want a picture of my wife—known as Mdlle Mar- 
vello on the stage. She’s a kicker. 

Har. And in private? 

Jack. Oh, she kicks there, too—toes or tongue—all the 
same to her. She’s coming; be here directly. That re¬ 
minds me—smooth her down. 

Har. Smooth her down? 

Jack. Smooth her down— ergo —don’t ruffle her up. Let 
her have her own way. It’s safest. I know. I’ve been 
there. {Sits. ) 

Har. Does she wish to pose? 

Jack. Don’t know—expect so—can’t say. If she wants 
to pose, let her pose. Let her stand on her head or her 
heels, just as she pleases. 

Har. I can do nothing to-night; but you can make an 
appointment for a daylight sitting. 

Jack.- Then you tell her. 

Har. Certainly. Make yourself comfortable. {Down 
R.) I’ll return directly. {Exit, R. i E.) 

Jack. Sure! Wonder if he takes me for a guy? I must 
look dizzy enough in this get-up. Ah, Jack, my boy, 
Dame Fortune has played you a shabby trick. It was an 
unlucky day when I took that pocketbook, supposing it 
was my guardian’s, only to learn from old Ikey that it be¬ 
longed to some unknown woman who would jail me at 
sight. Well, nobody could ever guess that Jack Minton 
and Percy Plantaganet are one and the same. 

Lizzie. {Off C. ) Percy! Percy! 


THE IRON HAND. 


21 


Jack. (Crosses. ) The devil—I mean my wife. 

Liz. (Off C.) Percival Plantaganet! Percy! 

Jack. She means trouble. (Goes up a?id opens C. D.) 
Here I am! 

Enter Lizzie, quickly , C. D. 

Liz. Percival Plantaganet, where on earth have you 
been? Where did you go? What are you doing here? 

Jack. I have been here. I came here. I am waiting 
here. 

Liz. What for? 

Jack. For the artist who is to delineate your lovely 
countenance. 

Liz. Oh, stuff! I wonder whether I should be drawn 
showing repose or action. 

Jack. Try repose, by all means; it will be such a nov- 
elty. 

Liz. Well, I won’t do it! 

Jack. All right! (Aside.) Nothing lost. He isn’t go¬ 
ing to paint her tongue. 

Liz. Oh, I nearly forgot! I saw mamma to-day. 

Jack. (Frightened.) Good heavens! Where? 

Liz. On Broadway. I gave her our address and— 

Jack. (Yells.) What! 

Liz. Eh? 

Jack. Lizzie, you’ve sealed my doom. Good-by. 

Liz. Where are you going? 

Jack. Where? Anywhere—everywhere! To the frozen 
north, the torrid south, the wilds of Brooklyn or New Jer¬ 
sey—anywhere to escape from your vindictive and desper¬ 
ate mamma, who has sworn vengeance because I ran away 
with her child. 

Liz. (Defaming him.) Don’t go and leave me, Percy. 
I’ll die if you do—I know I will! 

Jack. My positive purpose is shaken. 

Liz. I’ll make it all right with mamma. 

Jack. You will? 

Liz. I will! And she shan’t live with us, either. 

Jack. My positive purpose is smashed. It’s a go. I’ll 
stay, mother or no mother. 

Liz. Percy, you’re a brick. (Embraces him.) 

Jack. And hard pressed at that. 


22 


THE IRON HAND. 


Enter Mrs. Dibble, C. D. 

Mrs. D. What do I see? A man in my daughter’s arms! 

Liz. Mamma! {Runs R ., followed by Jack.) 

Jack. Don’t be afraid, Lizzie! 

Mrs. D. ( Aside .) It’s the husband! Young man, are 
you Percy Plantaganet? 

Jack. Yes, mum—I guess so! {Aside.) Oh, lord! She’s 
got it in for me! 

Mrs. D. Young man, I wonder that you don’t sink down 
with shame—that the earth doesn’t open and swallow you! 

Jack. {Aside.) I wish it would! 

Mrs. D. To think of you daring to marry my darling 
daughter on the sly and letting her become one of those 
dreadful actresses, or something with pictures of herself in 
short skirts in the store windows, and going out to supper 
with all sorts of people and— 

Liz. Do give us a rest! 

Mrs. D. Oh! {Crosses down L.) Elizabeth! How dare 
you! 

Liz. I don’t go out to supper. Percy rushes the growler 
up to the room and we have our grub there. 

Mrs. D. Silence, you undutiful child! And you, sir— 
you— 

Jack. {Aside.) Now I’ll catch it! 

Mrs. D. How dare you refuse to let me live with you— 
your own wife’s own mother—and to say my tongue was a 
threshing machine! Why did you hide away from me? 

Jack. Well, you see, our family increased somewhat 
about that time. 

Liz. Percy! 

Mrs. D. You don’t tell me! A grandmother? 

Jack. You’ve hit it! 

Mrs. D. Boy or girl? 

Jack. Both! 

Mrs. D. Oh, rapture! I forgive you both. Come to my 
arms. 

Jack. We’ll fly. {All embrace.) 

Mrs. D. This is a blessed day for me. This very morn¬ 
ing I received from some unknown person every dollar of 
the money I lost a year ago. 


THE IRON HAND. 


Jack. You lost some money? 

Mrs. D. Yes; it was stolen by a wicked woman, but I 
have it all back again. And now if you’ll go out with me 
I’ll buy my little pootsy wootsy grandchildren whatever 
they want. 

Jack. Get a barrel of paregoric as a starter. 

Mrs. D. Oh, come along, Lizzie! ( Starts up C.) 

Liz. Coming, Percy? 

Jack. No! 

Enter Ikey, C. D., meeting Mrs. Dibble, who sends him 
spinning down stage , then exits with Lizzie, C. D. 

Ik. Shiminy! Vot a muscle! It vos magnificent—ut¬ 
terly magnificent! 

Jack. ( Aside .) There’s that infernal Jew! 

Ik. Good evening, mine friend, how you vos, eh? 
(Looks closely.') So hellup me, if it isn’t Jack Minton! My 
dear boy— ( Approaches .) 

Jack. Stop! What do you want? 

Ik. An overcoat, I t’ink, you freeze me up so. (Shivers.) 
O-oh! You vos an iceberg. 

Jack. Yes, and you froze me out of my property. Who 
is this woman whose money I took, supposing it was Mont- 
ford’s? 

Ik. I don’t know. 

Jack. That’s a lie! 

Ik. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Listen to dot, now. 

Jack. I say, it’s a lie, cooked up by you and the scoun¬ 
drel you serve! 

Ik. You t’ink so? Supppose, now, you took a stroll 
down der stairs und find a man vaiting for you mit a var- 
rant, eh? 

Jack. (Alarmed.) What do you mean? 

Ik. I mean vot I say. They’re looking for you, und 
ven I come to save you I’m called a liar for my trouble. 

Jack. Is this true? 

Ik. On my vord, it is! Sh! Here (writes on card), 
take dis card, it vos de address uf my den, und you’ll be 
safe. 

Jack. Thanks, I’ll try it! (Starts up C.) 

Ik. Not dot vay! You’ll be nabbed. Come dis vay; 


24 


THE IRON HAND. 


{leads him to L. U. E.) it vos a side entrance. {Pauses.) 
Vait; how you come to be here, eh? 

Jack. I came to see about having my wife’s portrait 
painted. 

Ik. It vos lucky I come or your portrait would be in der 
rogue’s gallery. 

Jack. Look here, Ikey, I’m no thief and you know it. 
If you dare say I am, damn you, I’ll— 

Ik. Now, my dear boy! I know you didn’t stole dot 
money, but Mr. Montford t’inks you did, und so does der 
old voman. Hurry along, now! 

Jack. All right! {Exit L. U. E.) 

Ik. Poor devil! I vos sorry for him. {Goes to C. D.') 
It’s all right, uf you please. 

Enter Montford, C. D. 

Mont. Have you got rid of him? 

Ik. Yesh! I send him to my place. He t’inks—ha, ha, 
ha!—he t’inks he vos going to be arrested. 

Mont. I hoped he had disappeared forever, like his 
sister. 

Ik. Votever become uf her? 

Mont. I don’t know. I traced her to London and Paris, 
where she went with friends. The story of the accusation 
which you made against her— 

Ik. Und vich you made me make. 

Mont. Very well—it followed her—as I took good care 
it should—and she disappeared—went to the bad, I hope. 
( Goes to table and looks over photographs. ) 

Ik. She didn’t come back to you? 

Mont. {Quickly.') What do you mean? 

Ik. Me? Oh, nothing! 

Mont. {Looking at photograph.) What’s this? {Reads.) 
“To Harmon. Your loving wife, Bella.” My ward, by 
all that’s wonderful! 

Ik. Who vos it? 

Mont. {Not heeding him.) The devil! 

Ik. {Seesphotograph.) Eh, you calls dot pretty face der 
deyvil? She vos an angel! 

Mont. What do you know of angels? You never saw 
one. 


THE IRON HAND. 


25 


Ik. Dot’s true, but I hopes to sometime. (Aside.) Vich 
is more as you do. 

Mont. Ikey, go to your den at once—get a cab—ride 
like the furies. The boy will be there. Tell him the offi¬ 
cers are hot on his track, and that his only chance is to re¬ 
fund that thousand dollars. Probably he hasn’t a hun¬ 
dred. Say that his sister is here, has plenty of money, 
and make him write her to bring him that sum at once and 
in secret. 

Ik. At vonce und in secret. Vot is your scheme, eh? 

Mont. None of your business. Go at once. 

Ik. (Goes up C.) Yesh. Um— don’t I like being ordered 
about. (Exit, C. D.) 

Mont. So, she’s married to Van Dorn, and he’s jealous 
as Othello. I’ll play trumps and win the game. 

Enter Harmon, E. i E. 

Har. Beg pardon for keeping you waiting—ah, Mont- 
ford, good evening! 

Mont. Good evening, Van Dorn. I looked you up, you 
see. You’ve a pretty place here—rather better than in the 
old Bohemian days. 

Har. It’s passable. 

Mont. Have you settled down in New York for good? 

Har. I expect to remain for some time. 

Mont. No end of commissions, I suppose. Now, re¬ 
garding the picture I spoke of— 

Har. It will be impossible. 

Mont. Indeed? Then I’ll place the order elsewhere (at 
table, glances at Bella’s photograph), and I— (Pauses, as 
if startled .) 

Har. What’s the matter? 

Mont. A striking resemblance to a-— (Pauses.) 

Har. To whom? 

Mont. Oh ( carelessly ), to a person I once knew. 

Har. Who was she? 

Mont, My dear fellow, you would be no wiser if I told 
you. The woman I refer to was one of those beautiful 
harpies that infest the locomotive society of Europe. She 
fastened to me, and when I tired of her—as I speedily did 


26 


THE IRON HAND. 


—she created an unpleasant scene. It was a disagreeable 
episode, which I should like to forget. 

Har. And you say this is her portrait? 

Mont. By no means. I say the resemblance is striking 
—so much so, indeed, that if I saw it in the possession of 
any but a stern Puritan like yourself, I would swear it was 
the same. 

Har. What was that woman’s name? 

Mont. Excuse me, if I decline to give it. There can 
be, I dare say, no connection between her and the original 
of this picture. 

Har. Thank you! , Do you know who this is? 

Mont. Certainly not. 

Har. It is my wife. 

Mont. Really! Then I ask a thousand pardons for say¬ 
ing what I did. No doubt I was blind to think the resem¬ 
blance so strong. And what if it were? We all have our 
doubles, and it is nothing wonderful that two lovely women 
should look alike. 

Har. Montford, you’re hiding something! 

Mont. Upon my word, I’m not. Here {takes photograph 
from pocket ), by chance, I have a portrait of the woman I 
knew. ( Places it on table , takes hat and starts C. ) She 
gave it to me. Compare the two at your leisure, and you 
will see that the similarity is not so marked after all. (Har¬ 
mon eagerly coi?ipares the photographs.') I’m playing trumps 
to-night, and I think I’ve won a trick! {Exit, C. D .) 

Har. {Slowly. ) The faces are alike. And yet there 
must be some terrible mistake, for they must not, they cannot 
be the same. No, no, my darling, it needs more than this 
to make me doubt. This picture {is about to tear it, but, 
stops )—there’s writing on the back. {Reads.) “Yours al¬ 
ways and forever, Bella.” Her name, signed by her own 
hand! The scoundrel told the truth! {Sinks into seat by 
table, bowing head on his arms.) 

Enter Bella, C, D. 

Bel. Dinner is ready, Harmon! {Comes to him.) What 
is the matter? (Harmon raises his head and looks at her 
intently.) How strangely you act. How strangely you 
look. Aren’t you well, Harmon? 


THE IRON HAND. 


Har, No, Bella, I’m not well. 

Bel. What is it? 

Har. Oliver Montford has been here. 

Bel. ( Slowly .) And did you believe what he said about me? 

Har. He did not even speak your name. 

Bel. No? 

Har. No. Why should he? 

Bel. ( Absently .) Why? Why should he? 

Har. You repeat my words. 

Bel. I was only thinking. 

Har. Bella, I promised I would ask nothing about your 
past life, and I have kept my word. But when a man 
speaks of you lightly, even by inference, I have a hus¬ 
band’s right to ask if he tells the truth. Is this ( showing 
photograph received from Montford) your photograph? 

Bel. Why, yes. 

Har. And is that your writing? 

Bel. Certainly. 

Har. (Rising. ) What, do you dare — 

Bel. ( Quietly .) Wait, Harmon. This photograph is 
mine and the writing is mine—-inscribed to my brother. 

Har. Your brother? 

Bel. I have never spoken of him, for a thoughtless act 
of his was the indirect cause of much trouble to me. 

Har. What was it? 

Bel. I gave him my word that I would never tell. 

Har. Where is he now? 

Bel. I don’t know. I have repaid the — I mean he disap¬ 
peared and I have heard nothing from him in more than a 
year. 

Har. And this photograph was given to him? 

Bel. Yes. 

Har. What became of the others? 

Bel. There were no others. Jack wanted a picture dif¬ 
ferent from all others and he had the negative destroyed 
after that one was printed. 

Har. (Takes her hands, looks at her intently. She meets 
his gaze fearlessly.) I believe you, Bella {goes R.), and I 
hope for both our sakes I may never have cause to do 
otherwise. ( Exits R. r E.) 

Bel. (Looking after him.) Dear Harmon! 1 wonder if 


28 


THE IRON HAND. 


it would not be better to end this suspense and tell him all. 
He could not blame me, and yet, to recall that terrible 
affair is almost maddening! If I only had a line, a word 
from my brother, to end this dreadful suspen-se. 

Enter Hannah, C. D. 

Hannah. A man to see you, madam. 

Bel. To see me? Who is he? 

Han. He wouldn’t give his name. 

Bel. Is— is he a gentleman? 

Han. Oh, no, ma’am! He’s just an ordinary man. 

Bel. Well, what does he want? 

Han. He has a letter for you. 

Bel. Admit him. (Hannah bows and exits C. D. Bella 
crosses to table and sits. Pause.) Who can be sending me 
a letter? I wonder if the old dark days are returning! 

Enter Hawkins, C. D., with letter. 

Hawk. {After brief pause.} Beg pardon, madam! 

Bel. {Turns quickly.} Hawkins! 

Hawk. Here is your letter. {Gives letter, and starts up C. } 

Bel. Wait! Is there an answer? 

Hawk. I’m to wait outside for that. 

Bel. Outside? 

Hawk. That’s the order. {Exit, C. D.} 

Bel. {Opening envelope.} How strangely he acts. 
{Glances at letter in surprise.} From my brother! {Reads.} 
“Dear Sister: I am in great danger. Will be arrested 
and disgraced forever unless you help me. I must have a 
thousand dollars at once. Your husband is wealthy. Get 
the money from him, and bring it to me. But for your life 
don’t let him know a thing about it, or I shall be ruined 
and you will be disgraced.” Oh, brother, what have you 
done? No matter—I must save him. A thousand dollars. 
I haven’t it, and if I ask Harmon I must tell him why. 
There’s money in the desk—more than enough—and Har¬ 
mon wouldn’t mind if he knew. I’ll tell him all about it 
to-morrow. {At desk; gets money.} There! {closes desk ), 
now to go before he misses me. {Picks up hooded cape which 
lies on chair, L., but drops it as Hannah enters R.) 

Han. Mr. Van Dorn wishes to know if you are ready. 


THE IRON HAND. 


29 


Bel. No; tell him I’m not—not feeling well and that I 
am going to my room for an hour. 

Han. Yes, madam. ( Exits , R.) 

Bel. To tell a falsehood like that! It’s shameful! 
{Puts on cape.') And if Harmon finds it out—but there, I 
must not stop to think. ( Starts up C.) 

Enter Harmon, R. 

Har. Bella! 

Bel. ( Surprised .) Harmon! 

Har. I thought you were going to your room! 

Bel. I—I have changed my mind. 

Har. Where are you going? 

Bel. Out! 

Har. Out where? 

Bel. I have a headache, dear, and I thought a little walk 
would do me good. 

Har. All right, Bella, I’ll go with you! 

Bel. Thank you, Harmon, but I’d rather go alone. ( Goes 
to table and picks up letter .) 

Har. Alone, on the streets, at night? 

Bel. I’m not afraid. 

Har. But I am. {Up C.) 

Bel. I’ll not be long. {Starts up C.) 

Har. {Raises hand ; she pauses.) Where are you going? 
Bel. Please don’t ask me. 

Har. Stop this trifling! You’ve a letter there—whom is 
it from? 

Bel. No, no, I cannot tell you now. Won’t you trust 
me, Harmon? 

Har. Answer me! 

Bel. I cannot. 

Har. Answer me, I tell you, or you’ll not leave this 
house to-night! 

Bel. Harmon, I swear to you— 

Har. Stop! Don’t perjure yourself. 

Bel. What! 

Har. {Sternly.) No honest woman, no loyal wife would 
go out at night to a secret meeting with—- 

Bel. Harmon Van Dorn, be careful what you say! 

Har. {Hotly.) And you be careful what you do! 


30 


THE IRON HAND. 


Bel. ( Quietly .) Will you let me go? 

Hal. Tell me where, and I’ll not stop you. 

Bel. ( Quickly . ) You promise that? 

Har. I promise. 

Bel. ( Passionately .) Then if you must know, I am go¬ 
ing to meet Oliver Montford. 

Har. {Raisingfist. ) You dare admit it? 

Bel. Remember your promise! 

Har. ( Intensely and slow .) Yes, I remember. You 
wretched woman, you are not worth the touch of an honest 
hand. Go, go, and never let me see your face again! 
(Goes down L.; stands facing audience with clinched hands. 
Bella goes to C. D., pauses in doorway, stretches out hands to¬ 
ward him , then turns and slowly exits, as curtain slowly de¬ 
scends .) 

Slow Curtain. 


ACT III. 

Scene. — A rough, dark room in fourth grooves. Doors R. 
C., in flat, and L. i E. Window L. C., in flat, nailed up 
with boards. Rough pine table and stools, R. front. Cot 
up L., under window. Lights half down. Candles burning 
on table, with glass bottles for candlesticks. Shabby desk. 
L. 2 . Discover Jack lying on cot as if asleep. Several men 
drinking a?id playing cards at table. I key sits at same table 
facing audience. Chorus at rise. 

First Man. I tell you, boys, here’s the place! 

Second Man. Ikey’s a bird, he is! 

Ik. Yesh, but I vosn’t a songist. Now, suppose you 
give us a bit of a varble. 

Sec. Man. Sing! ( Song introduced .) 

Ik. {After song. ) Dot’s right! I likes to see der boys 
enjoy life. Here’s a place vere nobody comes to meddle, 
und ve don’t give a tarn for nobody. {Loud knock, D. F. 
Ikey and men spring up in alarm.') Great Israel! {Knock 
repeated.) Here, boys {rushes them L.), get under cover! 
No knowing who der devil vos coming. {Men exit, quickly, 
L. i E.) I vonder uf it vos der police. ( Loud knock. ) 



THE IRON HAND. 


31 


Oh-h! Shiminy! {Shivers. ) My name vos mud! ( Knock .) 
I t’inks I’ll told him I vasn’t to home, uh? {Long and loud 
knock.} So hellup me, uf I gets off dis vonce I’ll never do 
nothing some more. ( Opens door cautiously, then comes down 
“limp .”) It vos der devil himself! 

Enter Montford, quickly, D. F. 

Mont. {Angrily.} You gibbering fool! Why didn’t you 
open the door? 

Ik. Did I know it vos you? 

Mont. You should have known! 

Ik. Oh, veil, I vosn’t so smart as some. 

Mont. You impudent hound! {Seizes Ikey, who is at his 
left, by the shoulders, bends him back over his right forearm, 
and slaps his face two or three times with left hand, then flings 
him left arid crosses to right .) 

Ik. {Aside.) Yesh, und a hound sometimes bites, und 
he bites ve-ry hard. 

Mont. {Quickly.) What are you saying? 

Ik. So hellup me, I didn’t say a vord. 

Mont. Is the boy asleep? 

Ik. Vy not? After he wrote dot letter to his sister, I 
gave him somet’ing to keep him quiet—just as you told me 
to. 

Mont. Good! You’re a clever rascal, Ikey! 

Ik. Haven’t I had a clever master, uh? 

Mont. ( Seated, F.) I dare say. Still, you’re a past 
master at deviltry. Give me a cigar. 

Ik. Yesh. {Gives cigar from pocket.} 

Mont. {Smells cigar suspiciously.} Is this the kind you 
smoke? 

Ik. It vos, for certain. 

Mont. Bah! {Flings it away.} Have you no decent ones? 

Ik. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Und dose cigars cos two cents 
apiece! Veil ( at desk, gets box of cigars}, here vos some for 
your oxpensive taste. 

Mont. {Lights one.} That’s more like. Now, Ikey, pay 
attention! 

Ik. Yesh. {Puts cigars in desk.) I’m listening. 

Mont. That young cub’s letter will bring his sister here 
in a hurry. But she must not see him. 


32 


THE IRON HAND. 


Ik. Vy not? 

Mont. None of your business. 

Ik. Oh! 

Mont. You will tumble him into a cab, and take him to 
this address, North river {gives card ), where you will find a 
boat waiting. 

Ik. Vot next? 

Mont. Australia! 

Ik. Vot, me? Me go to Australia? 

Mont. No, you idiot—the boy! The captain will tell 
him that his sister failed to come, and that nothing was 
left but flight. 

Ik. Magnificent—but you say she will come? 

Mont. Certainly—and her jealous fool of a husband will 
kick her out for doing it. 

Ik. Und dot means— 

Mont. That she will go straight to— 

Jack. {Rising.) I think not. {Comes down slowly.') 

Ik. Shouting Israel! Der cub vos avake! 

Jack. Yes, very much awake. 

Mont. {Carelessly, still seated $.) Good evening, Jack! 
(Jack, C., turns tozvard Montford. ) 

Ik. Now, my dear boy— 

Jack. I’ll attend to you presently. Just now I’ve some¬ 
thing to say to this cur. 

Ik. {Aside.) He’ll get killed for dot, sure! 

Jack. {To Montford.) Plotting to ruin my sister, are 
you? To destroy her home—to wreck her life. The ele¬ 
gant Mr. Montford! What a fine gentleman you are, in¬ 
deed! 

Mont. Sarcasm doesn’t become you at all, my dear fel¬ 
low. When you become impertinent you don’t look at all 
nice. 

Jack. And you won’t look at all nice when I am through 
with you! 

Ik. {Aside.) Great Baxter street! He’s got nerve! 

Mont. Don’t excite yourself, especially about your sis¬ 
ter. Just at present your own affairs require attention. 

Jack. I’ll look after myself, you scoundrel! {Goes 
down R .) 

Mont. {Aside, to Ikey.) Lock the door. 


33 


THE IRON HAND. 

Ik. Yesh. (Goes up , pauses , raises finger warningly to 
Jack, who has turned , door.') 

Jack. What does this mean? 

Mont. What is it, my dear boy? 

Jack. You’ve locked me in here! 

Ik. (Up R., aside , disgusted.) He never caught on! 

Jack. Do you intend keeping me a prisoner here? 

Mont. Better here than wearing the stripes at Sing Sing. 

Jack. What! 

Mont. For there’s where you’ll find yourself unless I 
take care of you. Now, my boy, in spite of your foolish 
abuse, I feel kindly toward you, and won’t see you ruined. 
Therefore, you better accept the passage to Australia. 

Jack. But my wife— 

Mont. Your wife? Are you married? 

Jack. Yes. 

Ik. (Aside.) Um-m! Vot a tarn fool! 

Mont. That’s unlucky. Well, you can’t take her with you. 

Jack. Why not? 

Mont. In the first place, I doubt that she would go. In 
the second place, you can’t run the risk of being nabbed 
for a woman. 

Jack. Can she join me there? 

Mont. No, you poor fool! Can’t you understand that 
you must keep out of sight? A woman tagging after you 
—even if she were idiotic enough to go—would give the 
officers the very clew they want. You must disappear, I 
tell you, and that’s all there is of it! (Rises.) Go with 
Ikey now, and thank your lucky stars that I’ve helped you! 
(Turns to Ikey.) You know the way, 

Ik. Yesh. ( Goes up and unlocks the door.) 

Jack. Wait a minute. 

Ik. Veil? 

Mont. What’s the matter now? 

Jack. There’s one little hitch in this affair. 

Mont. I see—you want money. I had quite forgotten 
that little item. At the same time, I came prepared. 
(Takes chamois hag from pocket.) Here are (counts money) 
two hundred and fifty dollars—which will support you for 
a reasonable time. (Gives money.) Now go; you have no 
time to waste. 


34 


THE IRON HAND. 


Jack. {Glancing at money.') A small price for a big deal. 
( With rising anger.) You think to get rid of me—to rob 
my sister and me of our property—to send her to perdition 
—all for two hundred and fifty dollars! ( Eyes him for a 
moment.) You are childish, Mr. Montford, when you bid 
so low. 

Mont. Is that all you have to say? 

Jack. No! (Flings money at Montford’s feet. ) There’s 
your blood money; keep it. I have sunk pretty low in the 
world, but there is enough man in me yet to defy you, to 
save my sister and to give you a thrashing you’ll never for¬ 
get. ( Crosses.) 

Ik. {Half aside.) Shiminy gracious! Hear dot! 

Mont. {Slowly, as if amused.) The chicken is learning 
to crow! 

Jack. And I’ll do more than crow. {Starts up. ) 

Mont. Stop! (Jack pauses.) Where are you going? 

Jack. I’m going to meet my sister. 

Mont. You’ll never do it. 

Jack. Why not? 

Mont. Because there are officers at the door. Try to 
leave without my permission and you’ll find yourself in 
limbo. 

Jack. Oh, you cunning scoundrel! 

Mont. Thank you! Now, for the last time, which is it— 
Australia or a prison? 

Jack. Neither one! {Springs at Montford, seizes him by 
the throat. A quick, sharp struggle. Jack forces Montford 
over table and strikes him. Montford wrenches loose, retreats up 
stage, and, exclaiming. “Now, Curse You!" draws knife and 
rushes at Jack, who is down R. Old I key sprifigs between 
them, clutching Montford.) 

Ik. {Hurredly.) No, no, no! Vait, vait, I tole you! 

Mont. {Ijnpatiently.) Well, what is it? 

Ik. Don’t cut him. It vos so very disagreeable. Blow 
his brains out. Dot von’t make such a muss. Und, be¬ 
sides, vot’s der use of spoiling his clothes? 

Mont. Be quick, then. 

Jack. You cowards! Give me a chance! 

Ik. Dot’s only fair. Vait a minute. {Runs to desk and 
produces two pistols.) 


THE IRON HAND. 


35 


Mont. What are you doing? 

Ik. I t’inks you don’t vos murder der boy in some cold 
blood. (Montford takes a step toward him.') Look out! 
( Raises pistols.) They might go off. Here (gives Jack 
pistol ), take it. (Aside.) Shoot quick, und I hopes you 
blow his tarn head off! 

Mont. Well! Any time to-night. 

Ik. Yesh. (Givespistol.) It’s loaded. (Aside.) Don’t 
hurry. He couldn’t hit der side uf a house. 

Mont. (To Jack.) Are you ready? 

Jack. Yes. 

Ik. Vait! It is almost twelve o’clock. Suppose you 
fire at der stroke uf midnight. (Bell strikes. At each stroke 
old I key counts aloud — “ one , two , three ,” etc. As he an¬ 
nounces “ten” Montford fires quickly at Jack, who reels, stag¬ 
gers and falls C.) 

Ik. Oh! Dot’s nothing but murder. 

Bel. (Outside.) Jack! Brother! Are you there? 

Mont. Cover him up. (Starts for door.) 

Enter Bella, quickly , D. F. She pauses just within the 
door and looks at Montford for a mome7it. 

Bel. (Intensely.) Where is my brother? 

Mont. Bella! 

Bel. (Louder.) Where is my brother? (Looks around, 
sees Jack, screams and rushes down, kneeling beside him.) 
Jack! Brother! I’ve brought you the money! Brother! 
Dead! Dead! Dead! (Pause.) Who has done this? 

Mont. I regret to say that your brother has committed 
suicide. 

Bel. (Rising.)) You lie, Oliver Montford! You have 
killed my brother. And as sure as there is a just God, I’ll 
bring that murder home to your guilty soul! 

Curtain. 

Jack, Bella, 


L., I KEY. 


Montford, R. 


THE IRON HAND. 


3d 

ACT IV. 

Scene.— Parlor in fourth grooves. Curtained doorways , C ., 

in flat , A*, i E. and L. U. E. 

Enter Mrs. Dibble and Lizzie, D. 

Mrs. D. I declare, I never was so worried in all my 
life. Pretty goings on, I must say, with your precious 
husband out all night, and not home yet, and it’s after 
nine o’clock in the morning. Just wait till I see him! If 
I don’t say— 

Liz. You just let up on Percy! If you say another word 
about him or dare to grumble at him, I’ll give you the 
frozen mitt. 

Mrs. D. The frozen mitt! What’s that? 

Liz. The dead shake, that’s what! No living woman 
could have a better husband than I have! 

Mrs. D. I’m glad you think so. 

Liz. I don’t care whether you’re glad or not! He suits 
me, and your opinion don’t cut any ice! See? 

Mrs. D. There’s a dutiful daughter for you. 

Liz. Well! A woman with a good husband, who won’t 
stick up for him, is a fool. 

Mrs. D. What a very dutiful wife we have become. 

Liz. Mommer! {Shakesfinger.') One more brilliant re¬ 
mark of that sort, and we part company for good! And 
that’s on the level—understand? 

Mrs. D. (Begins to cry.) And to think that my own 
daughter would turn against me in my old age like this. 
{Sobs.) 

Liz. The handkerchief and weep business don’t go. So 
you might as well cut it out. If you want to stay on the in 
with Percy and me, you must mind your own business and 
never interfere with ours. The mother-in-law deal is a 
dead frost in this family. 

Mrs. D. {Straightens up.) Well! Such terrible slang 
talk I never heard in all my born days! 

Liz. Cut that! Is it a go? 

Mrs. D. I guess so. Anyhow {draws long sigh) —I’ll for¬ 
give you. 

Liz. You’ve missed your cue again. I’m no prodigal 


THE IRON HAND. 


37 


daughter to be forgiven anything. Pm a twentieth century 
woman, strictly up to date, and I propose to run my own 
affairs. ( Crosses .) 

Enter Harmon, L. U. E. 

Har. Good morning, ladies! 

Liz. Oh, Mr. Van Dorn, have you seen anything of my 
Percy? 

Har. Not since yesterday. I left him here, and I haven’t 
seen him since. 

Liz. He didn’t come home last night, and Pm worried 
half to death. 

Har. Pm sorry for that. Can I be of any service? 

Mrs. D. We thought you might suggest something. 

Har. You better telephone the facts to police headquar¬ 
ters. Possibly he has met with an accident. 

Liz. Thank you, ever so much! Pll do so at once. 
Good morning. Come along, Mrs. D.’s arm and 

rushes her up C .) 

Mrs. D. {As they start .) Lizzie, this is no foot race! 
Don’t hurry so! Dear! Dear! Dear! {Exits, with Liz¬ 
zie, C .) 

Har. ( Pauses, then crosses slowly and sits at table, L.) 
Gone! Gone to meet Montford. I wish I had strangled 
the fellow when he was here yesterday. But no; bad as he 
is, she is even worse; so why should I rail at him? Let 
them go! Let them go! But I pray Heaven I may never 
meet either of them again. 

Enter Hannah, C. 

Han. A gentleman to see you, sir! 

Har. Who is he? 

Han. The actor-man who was here yesterday. 

Har. Very well. (Hannah exits, C.) I can do no more 
work. I shall close my studio and leave, for life here 
would be unendurable. 

Enter Jack, C. Pauses and steadies himself with chair near 

entrance. 

Har. {Rising. ) Why, what is the matter? 

Jack. I—I have been injured. 


38 


THE IRON HAND. 


Har. {Helpinghim into chair beside table .) In what way? 
Have you met with an accident? 

Jack. No— it was no accident. 

Har. What then? 

Jack. Have you seen my sister this morning? 

Har. Your sister? 

Jack. She came to see me in secret last night—brought 
money to save me from disgrace, as she thought. It was a 
put, up job to blacken her character, and in trying to save 
her I received this. ( Points to head.') 

Har. {Slowly. ) Who is your sister? 

Jack. My sister {pause) —is your wife! 

Har. My wife? Then it was you— 

Jack. I took some money which I thought belonged to 
my guardian. She was accused by that devil of stealing it 
—because she refused to marry him. 

Har. Oliver Montford? 

Jack. Oliver Montford. 

Har. The shameless scoundrel! And he has dared — 

Jack. He dare do anything. 

Har. My poor Bella! If she were only here! 

Enter Bella, quickly , C. 

Bel. And here I am, Harmon! {Runs to him.) 

Har. {Embracesher.) Bella! 

Bel. I told you a falsehood, Harmon. It was Jack I 
went to see. When I got there he had been shot—killed I 
thought by Oliver Montford. 

Jack. My head was too hard. I was knocked silly, but 
it turned the bullet. 

Enter Mrs. Dibble and Lizzie, C. 

Mrs. D. What’s that I hear? {Raises hands.) Oh, dear! 
Shot full of holes, and me with only a piece of a son-in- 
law left! 

Liz. Don’t you ever dare do that again. 

Jack. I won’t! Oliver Montford will not have another 
chance to murder me. 

Enter Montford, on Jack’s speech , C. D. 

Mont. My dear boy, you shouldn’t speak of murder in 


THE IRON HAND. 


39 


that free and easy manner. (Jack attempts to rise but is re¬ 
strained by Lizzie.) 

Har. (. Intensely .) Montford, you and I have an account 
to settle. If ladies were not present— 

Mont. {With cool impudence.} Ladies? My former house¬ 
keeper, a variety hall singer and a thief— 

Har. {Has been quietly walking toward him as he begins 
speech. Reaches him as he says “thief ” and knocks him down.} 

Mont. {Rises and retreats backward toward C. D.) I 
might kill you for that, but I would rather watch your face 
when your criminal wife is placed on trial. 

Har. ( Would rush at Montford, but is restrained by 
Bella.) 

Jack. You snarling cur! I took that money! 

Enter I key, quickly , C. D . 

Ik. Und I’ll swore to dot. 

Mrs. D. And the money was all repaid. 

Ik. Und der copper is in der hall mit a pair of handcuffs. 
(Montford turns on him.} Und I ( aims pistol} have bor¬ 
rowed his gun! March! {Follows Montford out C .) 

Mrs. D. {Goingdown L.) Well! He’s got his quietum! 

Bel. Free from him at last, Harmon—free forever from 
the power of his Iron Hand. 

Curtain. 

Z., Mrs. D., Harmon. Bella. Jack. Lizzie, R. 






IS No. 8 OP THE SCRAP 
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Appeal to the Georgia Convention of i860 
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The publisher believes that he can 
say truthfully that Denison’s list of 
plays is on the whole the best se¬ 
lected and most successful in the 
market. New Plays will be added 
from time to time. 


T. S. DENISON, Publisher, I63 Randolph St., Chicago 



































































LIBRARY of congress 


CHOICE PLAYS AN 


Plays by T. S. DENISON 

That the plays written by T. S. De 
son are, all things considered, the best 
for amateurs, is attested by their very 
large and increasing sale. 

New plays in this type. 

COMEDIES. 


ACTS. TIME. M. F. 

Odds With the Enemy, 5, 2 hrs. 7—4 

Seth Greenback, 

The School Ma’am, - 
Only Daughter, 

Louva, the Pauper, - 
Under the Laurels, - 
Danger Signal, 

Our Country, Histori¬ 
cal Play, - 

Topp’s Twins, 

It’s all in Pay Streak, 3, 1 h. 40 m. 4 
The New Woman, - 3, 1 h. 3 


3. 1 h. 

4 , 2 hrs. 


10 - 


FARCES. 

ACTS. TIME. 

Initiating a Granger, - 25 m. 

Wanted, a Correspondent, 2, 45 m. 

A Family Strike, - - 20 m. 

Two Ghosts in White, - 20 m. 

The Assessor, - - * 10 m. 

Borrowing Trouble, - 20 m. 

Country Justice, - - 20 m. 

The Pull-Back, - - 20 m. 

Hans von Smash, - -2, 30 m. 

Irish Linen Peddler, - 2, 40 m. 

Kansas Immigrants, - 20 m. 

Too Much of Good Thing, 45 m. 

Is the Editor In? - - 20 m. 

Pets of Society, - - 20 m. 

Wide Enough for Two, - 45 m. 

Patsy O’Wang, - 35 m. 

Rejected, - 40 m. 

A First=Class Hotel , - 20 m. 

Mad. Princeton’s Temple 
of Beauty, - - - 20m. 

Dude in Cyclone, - 20 m. 

The Cobbler, - - - 10 m. 


TEMPERANCE. 



4, x h. 15 m. 7—3 

4, 1 h. 45 m. 6—5 
3. 1 h. 15 m. 5—2 

5, 2 hrs. 9—4 
5, 2 hrs. 5—4 
2, 1 h. 45 m. 7—4 


M. F. 
8 — 
4—4 
3—3 
—8 
3—2 

3 - 5 
8 — 

—6 

4 - 3 
3-3 

5- i 

3 — 6 

4 — 2 
—7 

5 — 2 

4 — 3 

5 — 3 

4 — 

—6 

5 — 3 
1 — 


The Sparkling Cup, 
Hard Cider, 

Only Cold Tea, - 


5, 2 hrs. 12—4 
10 m. 4—2 

20 m. 3—3 


4 SPTopp’s Twins and It’s all in 
the Pay Streak, 35 c. each. All 
others, 15 c. each. Postpaid. 

Large Catalogue Free . 


KS. 


0 018 604 076 4 

„—_ origmaTpieces, - 25c. 

When the Lessons are Over. 

New Dialogues, New Drills, New 
Plays, ------ 25c. 

Dialogues from Dickens. 

Thirteen Selections, - - - 25c. 

From Tots to Teens. 

Just out. Dialogues for youths, chil¬ 
dren, and little tots, also pieces for 
special occasions, - 25c. 

SPEAKERS. 

Friday Afternoon Speaker. 

For pupils of all ages, - - 25c. 

Choice Pieces for Little People, 25c. 

Patriotic Speaker. 

Carefully selected from best authors, 

25c. 

Dialect Readings. 

Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc., 25c. 

Sunday School Pieces, = 25c. 

Scrap=Book Recitations. 

A choice collection of pieces, pathetic,, 
humorous, descriptive, prose and 
poetry. Eleven Nos., per No. 25c. 

TABLEAUX AND SHADOWS. 

Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes, 

Charades, and how to prepare them, 

25c. 

School and Parlor Tableaux. 

For school, church and parlor, 25c. 
Wax Figgers of Hrs. Jarley. 

With full directions for preparing, 25c. 

OPERETTAS. 

Bonnybell, ----- 25c. 

Elma, the Fairy-Child, - - 25c. 

Eulalia, ------ 23c. 

Enchanted Wood, ... 35c. 

Pocahontas, ----- 13c. 

SPECIALTIES. 

Private Theatricals. 

How to select plays, form, cast, re¬ 
hearsals, rain, lightning, etc., 25c. 

Negro Hinstrels. 

Just the book needed. Tells the 
whole thing, - 25c. 

Work and Play 

A gem of a book for children in school 
or church entertainments, - 25c. 

Pranks and Pastimes. 

All sorts of games, puzzles, shadow 
scenes, etc., for evening parties, 25c. 
Social Card Games. 

An excellent manual of all common 
games, also tricks and diversions, 35c. 
Debater’s Handbook (cloth), - 50c. 

Good Manners, - - - - 25c. 

Everybody’s Letter=Writer, - 25c. 


T. S. DENISON, Publisher, 163 Randolph St., Chicago. 































